


Codas & Ficlets

by triedunture



Series: Uptown Education [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 07:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16990896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: Tumblr Ficlets & Codas in this verse





	1. Chapter 1

It was an open secret among a certain set of New Yorkers that, if you were really hard up, the blood bank was always willing to give donors a pair of Mets tickets after three bags. Washington certainly had enough blood to go around, and needles didn’t much bother him, and of course it was his civic duty to donate anyway–but it helped that he was running out of ideas for cost-effective dates on which to take Alex. You could only go to so many gallery openings. 

“I’m not really a sports guy,” Alex had said when he’d flashed the pair of tickets.

Wash raised a brow. “We get to sit outside and drink cold beer while watching our country’s greatest game. What’s not to love?” 

“Okay, first of all? America’s greatest game was Double Dare, and we’ll never top that again. Second,” he sighed, “I’ll go. But I will ask annoying questions about the balls and the sticks the whole time.”

“Deal.” Washington smiled.

The seats were in the nosebleeds, a sparsely attended section of Citi Field that had the misfortune of being directly blasted by the bright sun. Alex squinted and held a hand over his eyes until Washington took off his battered Mets cap and popped it onto Alex’s head. It was a little big, falling over the tips of his ears, but when Alex grinned over at him it looked pretty adorable. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He returned to explaining the finer points of the game, and why the crowd was cheering so loudly for a particular batter, and how the team had performed pretty decently–for the Mets–so far this season, and why Washington refused to get too comfortable with the idea of his team actually winning. Too much hope would jinx the thing.

“I don’t get it, Wash,” Alex said through handfuls of buttery stadium popcorn. “Why root for a team that constantly disappoints you?”

Washington shrugged and watched the players dotting the field below. “It’s the principle. By rights, if you’re talking hometown proximity, I should be cheering for the Nationals, but they’ll always be the Expos to me. The Mets were my father’s team. So now they’re mine.”

“The things we inherit,” Alex murmured. He took a swig from his big plastic cup of Bud Light. “My mom was weirdly into college ball. She watched every Duke football game. No idea why; we didn’t know anyone who’d been to Duke.”

Washington eased his arm along the warm plastic back of Alex’s seat, his hand resting lightly against Alex’s far shoulder. Alex leaned into the loose embrace. The bill of his borrowed hat nudged at Washington’s collarbone as his head turned. Below them, the crack of a bat, the roaring boo of the crowd.

“Hey,” Alex said, “tell me what went wrong. Did we lose the thing?”

“Not yet.” Washington let his lips brush the top of Alex’s ballcap, unfelt and unseen, a secret sappiness. “We get a few more chances.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Alex is stressed, pacing the length of their new apartment before flinging himself on the bed with a groan. “I’m not ready, Wash,” he says, and pulls a pillow over his face.

Tomorrow Jackie will move in officially, for keeps. And if he’s honest, Washington isn’t sure he’s ready either. Still, he has to wear a brave face. He lays next to Alex and rubs his leg, soothing. “It’ll be fine. We’ve got this.”

“Or it could be a disaster.” It’s muffled by the pillow, but Washington can hear the despair in his voice.

He pulls the pillow off Alex’s face and gives him a soft kiss. “Everything’s going to be all right,” he says. Another kiss. “You just need to relax. Want me to take care of you?”

Alex nods, albeit miserably. “I need to get out of my head for a minute. Maybe get loud. Who knows when we’ll have the chance again?”

“Don’t worry, we can do that. Come here, baby.” He pulls Alex close, peels off his clothes until he’s bare, kissing and nibbling at his neck the entire time. That’s the best way to distract him, he’s found. “I’m going to eat you whole, sweet thing. You know that?”

“Yeah,” Alex says dreamily. “You going to give me that mouth of yours?”

“Anything you need.” He scoots down the mattress and applies himself to giving Alex’s cock the wet, filthy kind of suckjob he loves. Wash lets his spit drip down the shaft as he works, rubs the slick of it around Alex’s clenched balls.

“C-can you put something in me?” Alex asks, and it comes out breathless. Shaking.

There’s a bottle of lube they keep on the nightstand. Washington grabs it, making a mental note to find a more discreet home for it later. Then his fingers are at Alex’s hole, stroking, searching. The blunt edge of his thumb presses in, and Alex arches off the bed.

“Fuck, that’s good. You’re going to make me spurt right in your mouth, Wash, God damn, I’m so close already, I can’t come yet, I can’t, I can’t.”

Washington lifts his head off Alex’s dick long enough to say, “Let go if you want to. I’ll just fuck you after, all nice and pliant for me.”

Alex curses loudly as Wash returns to sucking him. “That’s your plan, huh? Make me lose my fucking mind then fuck me while I’m a ragdoll? I won’t be able to move, I’ll be so fucked out. You’ll have to put me away wet, just tuck me into bed dripping ‘cause I won’t want to get up and shower.”

“Jesus,” Washington hisses as he fists Alex’s cock for a few strokes. He pulls out his thumb and replaces it with two fingers, which Alex humps down onto greedily.

“You like that idea?” Alex’s eyes gleam as he watches Washington work him. “Maybe you’ll like it so much you’ll need more. Maybe after I pass out from getting fucked so well, you’ll wake up in the middle of the night and just, oh god, just stick it in me again.”

Washington can’t help but rumble a pleased groan at the thought, and he dips his head lower to get his tongue mixed up with his fingers in toying with Alex’s hole.

“Sounds good, right? I’ll still be wet and sticky, all your come still in me. You won’t even need to stretch me, I bet, I’ll be so good, so sleepy. And I’ll wake up to you fucking me again, wake up to that big dick. Best wakeup call I’ll ever– Ah, Wash!”

He manages to catch most of Alex’s release in his mouth, but a streak of come paints his cheek before he can seal his lips around the head. It tastes bitter in his mouth, and so much of it. His eyes close in rapture, his tongue lapping at the last drops. Licking Alex clean.

When he’s done, he surveys the sweating, panting nakedness of his partner. Strands of his hair are stuck to his face and lips. Washington smiles with tender fondness.

He takes Alex’s hip in his hand and turns him over. “You want me to make part two real, baby?”

“Yes please,” Alex sighs, eyes already half closed, already on the edge of sleep, warm and wet for him.


	3. Chapter 3

Wash gets a text from Alex as he’s leaving the community center for the day: ‘sorry have to stay late. again. fuck, i just want to take you to dinner.’

He’s disappointed–this is the second time this week that Alex’s work has kept him–but he texts back something supportive, reminds Alex that he’s not going anywhere. Then he heads to the gym,because he has some time to kill. The sun’s down by the time he gets home, sweaty and tired from cardio, and Alex still isn’t home. Wash putters around the quiet apartment, makes himself a piece of toast with avocado for dinner. He’s considering a shower when the front door opens and Alex stands there, looking exhausted and wane.

“I have so much bullshit to rant about,” he says, and dumps his laptop bag on the floor. “How can so many people be so stupid? How? Is it a curse? Am I paying for something I did in a past life?”

“Let it all out, baby,” Wash says. He helps Alex out of his suit coat, half-listening to his complaints about work. His voice gets higher and thinner the angrier he gets, and Wash just murmurs out sounds of sympathy while divesting Alex of his tie and all the rest of his business suit. Alex barely registers it, just marches with ferocious energy around the apartment, still going off on his co-workers.

Wash stops him in the doorway to their bedroom, holds his wrists in his hands until his angry words die away.

“…And that’s why I had to work late,” Alex finishes. He shakes his head. “Sorry. I need to figure out a way to deal with this stress, I know. I can’t keep dumping on you like this.”

“Hey.” Wash kisses him, a deep one that ends up pushing Alex back against the doorjamb. “Let me help you, baby. That’s what I’m here for.”

Alex runs his hands over Washington’s gym tee shirt, which is still damp with sweat. His eyes shine with mischief. “Okay, but don’t be too sweet to me. I need you a little harder tonight.”

“That so?” Wash crowds up against him, his clothed body heavy against Alex’s bare one. “You better turn around, then.”

Alex does as he’s told, and Washington leaves him there for just a second to retrieve the lube they keep on the nightstand. He makes a pretty picture, cheek pressed to the painted white wood of the doorjamb, hands clutching above his head in a way that makes his back arch. Wash watches the display as he coats his fingers.

“Starting now,” he says when he steps back behind Alex, voice hot in his ear, “I only want to hear pretty sounds out of you.”

Alex groans. Washington considers it a fairly positive noise.

“I’ll be good for you, promise,” he pants, “just put something in me.”

Fingers first, slow and careful despite Alex’s assurances that he should hurry. When Wash finally deems him ready, he pushes the waistband of his soft sweatpants down just enough to let his cock spring free, and Alex pushes back against it with abandon.

“Need it,” he whines.

“You’re getting it,” Wash promises, and sinks his cock into Alex on the crest of his shout.

He doesn’t take it slow now that he has Alex on his dick, so hot and pleading. He plants one hand on Alex’s hip to keep him locked in place, wraps his other hand around Alex’s ponytail and *pulls*. Alex lets loose an excited yelp, his head snapping back with the motion, his spine bowing deliciously. Washington pounds into him and speaks low and dark into his ear: “Let me hear you, Alex. Is it good?”

“It’s so good, Jesus, you’re so good. Taking care of me, fucking me just right.”

Washington lets go of his hair and crushes him up against the doorjamb, hips working like pistons. “That’s right,” he growls.


	4. Chapter 4

Alex had chosen the B&B after extensive googling, and he didn’t give Wash a whole lot of details other than it was upstate and pretty isolated. “No cell service,” he said with undisguised glee as he tossed some clothes and a pair of swim trunks into their shared suitcase. “No distractions, no stress, just you and me and whatever hippies still live up by Woodstock.”

“Won’t you be bored?” Wash asked as he carefully folded each rumpled item and placed it strategically in the suitcase.

“Not with you around.” Alex wriggled his eyebrows in a way that made Washington snort.

The bed was small and creaky, the mattress sagged in the middle, and Wash knew it was going to be murder on his back. Alex tossed himself on top of the duvet and bounced to test the springs. He caught the dubious look on Wash’s face and said, “Look at it this way: since it’s on its last legs, we may as well give it a good send off.”

Maybe it was the fresh air or the view of the perfect lake from their room window, but Washington wanted nothing more than to take his time with Alex. He undressed him slowly, took charge of his frantic kisses and turned them into quiet explorations, fingered him open unhurried. For every plea and whine from Alex, he had an answering shush, a promise in his eyes. And Alex, despite his complaints, let himself be laid out on his stomach with his hair loose around his face, peeking back over his shoulder as Wash worked him over with his tongue and fingers.

“Fine,” he said with a shiver, “but I’m breaking this damn bed before the weekend’s out.”

Washington grinned against the curve of his ass. “We have time.”


	5. Chapter 5

Alex looked down at the three slips of paper in his hand. His face turned a splotchy pink. Washington immediately regretted what he’d said. 

“Angelica said it was a kid-friendly thing,” Alex said. “I thought– Everyone likes bubbles?” 

Washington rubbed a hand up and down his arm. “Six-year-olds want to go see the bubble show, baby,” he said. “Jackie’s almost fifteen. She wants tickets to Streetcar. That Gillian Anderson–”

“–is her hero, I know.” Alex slumped. He placed the tickets on the kitchen counter, a defeated gesture. “Well, Streetcar’s got all that rape and domestic abuse…. I thought this would be better. I’m.” He blinked rapidly four times. “I’m just trying to be a good dad.” 

Alex didn’t cry often, but when he did it was like this: quiet tears slipping down to tremble on the point of his goatee until they fall, unchecked, in circles on the tile. Washington clicked his tongue, reached out to brush away the freshest tears with his thumb. “You’re doing fine, baby.”

“No I’m not,” Alex said, his gaze riveted to the countertop. “She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t trust me. You’re the one she goes to; she’s barely said two words to me since she moved in.”

“Give her time,” Washington says, his thumb still stroking down that damp cheek. “It’s a process. For all of us.” 

“Oh my god,” Alex moaned. He leaned forward until his forehead rested against Washington’s chest. “Can’t we just fast-forward to the good stuff? Why is this so hard? I mean,  _bubbles_? What is wrong with me? I thought I was supposed to be  _smart_.” 

“You are smart.” Washington pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re a genius.” 

“Bubbles, though,” Alex sighed. 

The click of platform heels came across the tile, and Alex hurriedly tore himself away from Washington’s chest, wiping his eyes before Jackie appeared in their kitchen, holding her phone aloft.

“Rush tickets!” she crowed. “I got ‘em! A pair, less than half price. Tonight only. We’re going, right? We’ve got to. Credit card?”

“Hold on, hold on, back up.” Washington saw Alex turning away, and he took him gently by the arm to anchor him in place, his back flush against Washington’s chest. They all needed to get more comfortable with everyday affection around each other (though Jackie didn’t seem fazed; it was Alex who fidgeted). “Is this that play you keep talking about?”

“A Streetcar Named Desire isn’t just a play, old man,” she said, using her longtime tease of a nickname for Wash. “It’s a way of life. Please, can we go? I’ll pay you back.”

Washington made a show of reaching for his back pocket, removing his wallet, thumbing through its folds, selecting the silver Am Ex. Jackie danced from foot to foot, grinning, her hands making grabby motions in thin air. 

“You may go, no paybacks necessary,” Washington said, “but Alex has to go with you.”

“What?” they both yelped. 

Washington shrugged expansively. “I’m buried under paperwork tonight. But don’t worry. Alex will take you. He loves plays.”

“Oh yeah?” Jackie swept an incredulous look at Alex. “You a big Tennessee Williams fan?” 

“Uh.” Alex straightened. His fingers sought Washington’s behind his back, threaded into them. “I am tonight,” he said. 

Washington made a show of checking his wristwatch before handing over his credit card. “Trains are running local this weekend. Better give yourself plenty of time.” He squeezed Alex’s hand, out of sight. “Jackie, you can tell Alex all about Mr. Williams on the ride there.” 

“He choked to death on a bottle cap, you know,” she said eagerly. 

Alex made a face. “Great,” he said. 

Jackie tapped the credit card information into her phone, chattering away about southern gothic literature and repressed artists. Alex got their coats and draped Jackie’s faux fur wrap around her shoulders. “Bye, old man!” she called to Washington as they swept out the door. “Don’t work too hard.” 

Washington sat down at their kitchen table, which was laden with enough work to keep him busy, and kept at it until his phone pinged a couple hours later. A message from Alex: 

 _There is too much sex and violence in this fucking thing!_  he texted.  _And I’m restraining our daughter from running away with Gillian Anderson! Help!_

Washington typed back, smiling: _You’re doing fine, Cool Dad. I love you._


	6. Chapter 6

He’s sprawled on his stomach, his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose. There is a smudge on the right lens, and so he sighs, removes them carefully, uses the corner of the bedsheet to wipe them clean, then replaces them to turn back to the tome that’s cracked open on the bed, its covers falling from its spine the same way his legs spread into a wide V behind him. And he flicks a page idly without even shifting, and behind him Washington makes a low, throaty sound that is captured somewhere deep inside him where his mouth is fixed to Alex’s body, and still Alex manages to continue reading. It’s a game with them, one they both will win, Washington fighting to draw out every frisson of pleasure with his lips and his tongue and the whole of his wet mouth, and Alex will eventually drop his head on his folded arms and try desperately to finish the final paragraph in his textbook’s chapter on economies of scale.


	7. Chapter 7

Washington’s program is slow to take off, but once it does, it’s off like a shot, bolstered by Alex’s funds, by donations from the Schuyler and Laurens families, by city funding that wouldn’t have been possible without them in the first place. The kids are “parent-free,” a the term that Eliza coins; Washington refuses to call them orphans. The word’s not accurate in every case, and anyway, “It implies no one’s there for them, and that’s not true. Not anymore,” Washington tells Alex one night as they pore over the wording of the charter and press materials. 

Alex covers his hand in that moment, his eyes shining. 

The program covers a lot of ground: a support group, an after-school study hall, a network to find the right counselors, a mentorship. Then it evolves: field trips out of the city so the kids can hike in the woods and breathe fresh air, subsidized tickets to Broadway shows, coaching for college prep. Washington finds himself teaching a handful of high schoolers how to ask for a letter of recommendation, something he himself had just learned not more than two years ago, when John Laurens had taken him aside and said, “You know, my father….” 

Years pass, and some of the kids who were there at the start grow up to become young adults. Washington watches them leave the nest, each one a badge of pride for him. It’s hard work, difficult work, and it doesn’t always have a happy ending. But there’s this one kid. Jackie. When she smiles, it makes Washington want to do better. She’s small and brash and so, so smart; reminds him of someone he knows. But she’s also in her early teens, and she’s trans, and she doesn’t always get along with other adults. The foster homes are fine, she says, whatever. Not like I’m going to get adopted at my age, she says. Then she mimes walking with a cane like she’s 90 years old, and Washington laughs even as his heart is breaking. And he wonders, as Lafayette so often asks, why not?

“Tell me this is a terrible idea,” Washington says in the dark, holding Alex close against his chest. “Tell me I’m a fool for thinking I should bring my work home with me.”

“Jackie isn’t work for you.” Alex strokes the back of his neck. “You talk about her like she’s ours anyway. Come on, let’s at least look into it.” 

“She’d need her own room. We’d have to move. Alex, your apartment, this is our home.” This is where I fell in love with you, Washington wants to say.

Alex shrugs in his arms. “So we’ll move. It’s just a place. All a home needs is me and you and our kid.” 

Tears are threatening at the corners of his eyes. Sentimental old man, he chides himself. “Our kid,” he repeats. “We’ll be parents.” 

“Dibs on being the cool dad,” Alex says, and Washington kisses him. 

But does not actually ratify that particular proposal. 


	8. Chapter 8

The first time was an accident. The result of their laundry mingling together, waiting to be parsed. They both tended toward cheap three-packs of Hanes tees, both tended toward the neutral white-gray-black collections. So when Washington blearily tugged a shirt out of the drawer that Alex had given him in his bedroom dresser, he slipped it on over his head without noticing the problem right away. 

Mornings had never been his strong suit. 

He stumbled into the kitchen in time to see Alex pouring a bottle of Five Hour Energy into his coffee cup. 

“No,” he said, still rubbing his face. They’d talked about this. He’d promised Past Alex he would save him from Future, Caffeine-Deprived Alex. “Nuh uh. Give it here.” 

“It’s just one,” Alex protested, even as Washington took his mug from his hands. “Come on, I’m weaning. Just one sip and I’ll–” He stopped and stared at Washington’s chest. “Oh my god.” His laugh wasn’t much muffled by the knuckle he shoved into his mouth. 

“What? Oh.” Washington looked down at himself and realized the shirt was Alex’s, a men’s medium, which on Alex was a little baggy. On Wash, it was positively obscene. His nipples, for example, were clearly outlined, poking against the cotton. “Great. I’ll have to change.”

“No, don’t you dare!” Alex said, smoothing his palms over the planes of Washington’s chest and stomach. “Jesus, it’s like painted on.”

“I can’t go to work like this,” Washington reminded him.

“It’ll be under your button-down, won’t it? Who will know, except me?” Alex licked his lips, looked up from under his thick eyelashes. “It’ll make me very happy to know you’re wearing it.”

“Mmm. Well, I do live to make you happy,” Washington murmured, only half-joking as he brushed his sleep-fuzzed mouth against Alex’s. 

“You know what else would make me happy?” Alex breathed.

“Not going to happen.” With a flick of his wrist, Washington dumped the foul coffee-energy drink mixture into the sink. Alex howled, but he ignored him. 


	9. Chapter 9

The Dollar Tree on the corner by the 190th subway stop and the new condos (which used to be called Deals with a dollar sign for an S) had advertised a going-out-of-business sale (as it was turning into a Dollar General) which meant everything was now 65 cents. For some reason.

“Who cares why?” Alex said. “We could use some silverware.” 

Alex’s car was a non-starter that week, quite literally. It was a cold day, even for January, and because they were going to be saving so much on their silverware purchase, Washington agreed that they could splurge on the fare for the M1 bus that would take them down Broadway to the store. So they stood shivering at the bus stop for a few minutes before the damn thing finally trundled up, and they squeezed in with the rest of the weekend crowd, finding a place to stand close to the back door, pressed close to fit. 

The bus shuddered down the road, and Washington swayed along with its movements. Alex did too from his place in front of him, though much exaggerated, the curve of his ass grinding back against Wash with smug abandon. 

“Stop that,” Washington admonished in his ear. “There are other people on this bus, you know.”

“So polite,” Alex murmured in return. “You know I can’t help myself when you dress like that.”

Washington looked down at himself: he was dressed for a possible run later in the day, Nikes and sweats. “Like a dog walker?” he asked with an incredulous raise of his brow.

“Christ, you’re cute.” Another well-timed grind back against Washington’s dick, which was now taking interest in the proceedings despite Washington’s furious commands. 

“I’m serious.” The hiss came out low and strained. “Either quit what you’re doing or get off at the next stop with me so we can go back to your place.”

“Do you mean ‘get off at the next stop’ as in–?” 

Washington reached over Alex’s head and pulled the bright yellow bus cord. The sign at the front dinged. “Stop requested,” said the robot bus voice. 

Alex leaned back against Washington’s chest with a breathless laugh. “Well, that’s five-fifty down the drain.” They continued using excess plasticware from takeout, at least until Washington got his new job. 

His first paycheck was used to buy a set of very sturdy utensils, which Alex accepted with a fond smile.


	10. Chapter 10

Washington presses his hand punishingly against the outline his dick is making in his sweatpants. The pressure isn’t enough, and it’s not going away. His nerves are jangling with it, this need, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep like this, his cock throbbing in his pants while he listens to Alex’s soft breathing just a few feet away in the bedroom. 

He could get up from the couch. Go to the bathroom, where at least there’s a door to lock. But the cushions here smell of Alex, and if he turns his head he can press his face into them and pretend it’s Alex’s hair and– 

His dick flexes under his hand. He grips it tighter. 

Not enough. Washington makes a decision and yanks down the waistband of his sweatpants, just enough for it to catch under his full balls. His heavy cock bobs free against his stomach, smearing a spot of precum on his skin where his shirt has ridden up. It won’t take long, he thinks in a feverish haze. He can’t possibly last long at all. It’ll be quick, and no one will have to know.

His hands are dry, so he spits twice into his palm and uses that to slick up his twitching shaft. God, it’s been days since he’s been able to get off. Between all the studying and the late hours at work, he’s passed out in bed as soon as his head hit the pillow every day this week. No time to indulge like this, to take ownership of his body, to take care of it. 

He hears the sudden creak of the bedroom door and his eyes fly open. Immediately his hands are scrambling, pulling up his sweatpants and cupping his huge erection. Maybe Alex won’t notice, he thinks wildly. It’s so dark, maybe Alex– 

“Wash?” Alex’s voice is sleepy. Then, more steady, “You okay?” 

Despite his shame, Washington manages to turn his head and look over to Alex, who’s standing there in his borrowed hoodie, feet bare, just staring. He’s noticed. He can’t stop noticing, apparently. 

“I–” Washington says. And Alex’s eyes are so hungry, and his parted lips are so plush, and the way he’s gazing up and down the length of Washington’s body and stopping for long moments at the bulge under his hands is making everything even worse. Washington can’t stop now. He’ll die if he stops now. His left hand drops away and he touches himself with his right, jacking himself through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, which is so thin that the ridge of his cockhead, the shape of his balls, are clearly outlined.

Alex’s breath catches and he reaches blindly for the armchair that’s behind him. He pulls it closer, sits down. Props one foot up on the seat cushion. Doesn’t take his eyes away.

“Keep going,” he whispers. His hands disappears like a flash down the front of his pajama pants, and Washington lets loose a groan.

“I plan to,” he says. 


End file.
